


Sunrise

by Stormcalled (Raidho)



Series: In Perfect Love and Perfect Trust [11]
Category: Final Fantasy XIV
Genre: Also In Perfect Love and Perfect Trust spoilers, Dark Knight Warrior of Light (Final Fantasy XIV), Dragoon Warrior of Light (Final Fantasy XIV), Friendship, Grief/Mourning, M/M, Male Warrior of Light (Final Fantasy XIV), Miqo'te Warrior of Light (Final Fantasy XIV), Moonfire Faire (Final Fantasy XIV), Nightmares, Romance, Specific Warrior of Light (Final Fantasy XIV)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-14
Updated: 2020-09-14
Packaged: 2021-03-07 03:46:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 13,013
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26466646
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Raidho/pseuds/Stormcalled
Summary: A collection of short stories in the In Perfect Love and Perfect Trust series, set post-5.3.
Relationships: G'raha Tia | Crystal Exarch/Warrior of Light
Series: In Perfect Love and Perfect Trust [11]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1435858
Comments: 13
Kudos: 72





	1. To Hope

**Author's Note:**

> The first three stories in this collection are not new, but are collected individual works. In the future new short stories set during this time period will go in this collection. As always you can yell at me or find information about supporting me on [twitter](https://twitter.com/AStormcalled).

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The missing scene from the end of 5.3. Originally posted here: <https://archiveofourown.org/works/25870633>

Aden _exploded_ out of the door of the Rising stones into the Seventh Heaven, twisting to dodge a incoming patrons, ignorant of the dropped glasses, spilled beers, and toppled chairs amidst the resultant _panic_ of seeing the savior of two realms running hells-bent out of the Scions’ headquarters. He barrelled out the front door with a high, chirruping whistle, picking up speed as he turned towards the gate. Somewhere in the stables Keva answered him with a cry, snatched his own reins from a groom and bolted for the fence, the massive destrier clearing it with ease. They met just inside the arch, Aden latching on to the bird’s saddle and swinging himself up into it with both in motion. He made a little click with his tongue and Keva picked up speed, tore through the gate and spread his wings before bolting off the cliff into open air.

His heart hammered against the warm spirit vessel pressed to his breast, tucked safely away in his armor. _Would you believe me?_ He felt cold crystal under his hands again, thrumming with lifeless power. He wanted to. _Oh,_ how he wanted to, but even as he didn’t feel that dark despair he had with Haurchefant’s death he couldn’t help but think, _to hope is to lose._

 _To hope is to live._ In Raha’s voice, in a voice so like his own, in an ancient voice buried deep in his heart, the slumbering giant Azem. With tears streaming down his face against the biting wind of haste, and trepidation as great as his need, he spurred Keva on towards the Crystal Tower. He didn’t wait for the bird to fully land, leaping off before touchdown. Keva gave a little disgruntled noise, but waited all the same at a sharp click of his tongue. Aden hit the ground running, and the Tower gates slid open before him.

He expected the strange sensation of the Tower’s welcome, but instead found only a growing hum. It’d been in stasis, locked up tight--perhaps everything was off. He’d grown to know the brush of vague awareness and cherish what it represented, and its absence unnerved him, as once it’d unnerved him to feel it. He didn’t _belong_ to this Tower, the way he did--had--to the one on the First. He felt Fray’s gentle touch turn his thoughts for him--away from the deep and abiding silence he’d felt when last he entered.

Aden _ran_. He knew the way to the Ocular well, and beyond it to the Umbilicus, the buzzing mind of the Tower itself. The glow all around him slowly increased, systems awakening to the presence of royal blood and awaiting a command--one he didn’t dare give, for fear it might damage the precious cargo.

There, in the center of the sanctum, he lay curled on his side, wearing what he’d worn the day he’d sealed the Tower, hair grown into an unruly mess behind him with his usual tuck-bun and braid at the end. Aden unlatched the side of his breastplate and withdrew the precious cargo, wrapped in a gold and black scarf the Means had gifted the Exarch in the first winter: the spirit vessel, and a ring dark as drachenmaille, carved with fine woven branches, a sapphire and a bit of crystal nestled next to one another, flush with the band, one side wrapped in string to make it fit a smaller hand. He paused, staring at the ring against his palm--all it had represented was lost to him once more. All it had represented rested frozen in eternal vigil at the top of the Crystal Tower on the First.

But he held a _promise_ in his other hand. He clenched the ring tight, and knelt down next to G’raha. He carefully placed the spirit vessel, reluctant to let go of it, then watched, and waited.

Several heartbeats passed, breaths, long minutes counted by the rhythmic hum of the Tower building up to normal levels. It wasn’t the first he’d counted time to those sounds, but it might be the last. Aden reached out to brush a stray lock of hair out of G’raha’s face, unnerved by how cold and lifeless he looked in stasis. Nothing happened, and still he watched, and he waited. _You promised_ , he didn’t say--because he couldn’t accuse G’raha like that, couldn’t _blame_ him for doing what was right and necessary. They both knew it, and Aden had held his hands steady on the staff and poured his own bottomless wellspring of aether through their bond and doubly damned him for it. For one strange, beautiful and terrible moment they’d almost been _one_ , moreso than ever before--and the sleeping ancient within him, the thing formless but now named, had reached out for the one in G’raha in a barrage of alien and familiar sensations and memories he couldn’t sift through. They had done this before, and fate willing they would again--under better circumstances. But with each passing moment not, it seemed, in _Aden’s_ lifetime. He swallowed thickly, throat tight as his count reached half a bell. Perhaps he should’ve waited, and brought Krile.

His eyes traced the youthful curves of G’raha’s face, committing it to memory. This, at least, he might have--a different last vision than the terrible, perfect statue of the man he had fallen in love with. Even if the man who lay there sleeping would now never become him-- _must_ be someone else, in some other future, if he did not wake here and now. Urianger’s voice echoed in his head, _the Exarch must needs recognize his past self as simply that─himself._ Aden had never for one moment doubted, until now, that he _was_ \--he had talked about killing that young man to become the Exarch and do what he must, but it was all a fiction, as much a fiction as Aden had permitted himself while Fray held his demons at bay. They were each of them, beneath everything else, the same as they had been all those years ago, when their eyes were bright and their hearts not yet weary.

A bell passed, another. His linkpearl went off, and he ignored it. It went off again, and he answered with a whispered, dark, “Not now,” before breaking the connection. He didn’t know how long he meant to wait. He heard the subtle change in the Tower’s tune that indicated night had fallen. What time had it been, when he arrived? He’d stopped caring the moment he saw the first half-summoned hero ringed in Allagan magics, cared only for _now_. His linkpearl went off again, and he ripped it off and put it away.

Some time late in the night Aden latched his breastplate back into place, and very, very carefully folded the scarf up, ring safe inside. He laid this down next to the spirit vessel rather than clutch desperately at them. He laid his hand over the crystal, warm and humming with familiar aether, and marveled at how much of it he covered with his hand. Such a delicate thing under his gauntlet, and Elidibus could’ve done any damage in his madness. He closed his stinging eyes, and bowed his head. For all his might, he could never _hold onto_ the things he cherished. “ _Raha,_ ” he murmured, and fancied he felt that gentle sunset warmth--as he had the whole time he carried the vessel, imagining G’raha were really with him.

“ _...Aden?_ ”

Aden jerked his head up, ears nearly pointing--scarlet peered up at him from beneath long lashes, half-hidden by that unruly bit of hair fallen back into place. The crystal beneath his hand was cold and dull, but that sunset warmth lingered all around him. He stared dumbly, scarcely able to breathe, jaw tight while G’raha blinked away sleep. In the soft glow of the Umbilicus he looked almost angelic, something far too sacred to be real, and Aden wondered if he had walked into a dream, or somehow called upon Azem’s power to warp reality and present himself with the vision he fervently desired.

G’raha yawned so wide his jaw popped, and it startled Aden out of his reverie, ripped a sharp, surprised bark of laughter out of him. He pulled his hand away from the spirit vessel, now dark, as quieter laughter shook him, delirious and relieved. “It's good to see you awake, Raha.”

G’raha’s eyes blinked open wider, his ears perking with just a subtle tilt of his head in Aden’s direction. “‘Tis good to be awake,” he murmured, and reached out for Aden, grabbing at now long-familiar joints in his drachenmaille. He tugged with little force behind it, weak from his long sleep, but Aden followed all the same. G’raha rolled onto his back, and their lips met with all the desperate longing of their first kiss in Kholusia. Aden fought not to melt into him, to _sob_ , overwhelmed and body demanding catharsis for a tension that’d wound up his entire life and over the past year slowly, _slowly_ began to release only to explode apart in this moment. He pulled away and wrapped an arm behind G’raha’s shoulders, hooked the other under his knees, and lifted such that they were facing one another, pressing their foreheads together in a soft bunt. G’raha, too, sobbed and laughed with him, arms circling around Aden, one hand tangling in his short hair and one ear flicking wildly.

“I’m sorry,” G’raha’s voice came hoarse and whisper-soft, “I’m sorry I had to leave you, even for a little while.”

“I _hoped_ ,” Aden answered, voice tight, and he flicked his ears forward, brushing G’raha’s. “You came back. Like you promised. You always come back.”

“I had to. There’s nowhere I want to be more than by your side.” G’raha kissed him, slower this time, fingers tightening in his hair, and they stayed like that for a long time, Aden holding him while he took breathless, lingering kisses, like learning the shape of his lips with this body that’d never touched him. Finally he pulled back, gasping for air, and pressed his forehead to Aden’s once more. “All that said,” he paused for breath, “I don’t think I’ll be walking out of here under my own strength.”

“Then you’ll just have to leave in my arms.”

Aden knelt long enough for G’raha to gather up the scarf and the ring, and the spirit vessel besides--”You never know,” he said. Then as Aden rose, adjusting his grip to carry G’raha more comfortably, G’raha’s head jerked up, eyes narrowed. “Wait, why is this folded up so neatly? Were you about to _leave_ it here?”

Aden opened his mouth to reply, then closed it with an audible clack of his teeth. He turned, G’raha still looking up at him expectantly. Heat rose up the back of his neck. “Later,” he finally murmured, voice tight for a _different_ reason--embarrassment so strong he _blushed_ was so rare it almost felt _new_.

“It doesn’t matter,” G’raha said, his eyes softening and a little smile curling his lips. He busied himself adjusting the string around the ring, and by the time they reached the bottom he had it back where it belonged, and was nearly nodding off in Aden’s arms.

As they approached Keva, Aden made a couple of little clicks with his tongue, and the bird didn’t immediately react, turning instead and cocking its head, turning one wide, dark eye on G’raha in the glow of the Tower.

“You know him,” Aden answered. “It’s just been a while.”

Keva glowered a moment longer, then turned with a flip of his head like a petulant teenager might flip their hair, and carefully knelt--the command Aden had given him. Aden helped G’raha into the saddle, then settled down behind him, one arm wrapped around him and one on the reins. Keva rose, and as they settled in for a far less _dramatic_ ride back to Revenant’s Toll, G’raha found exactly the right angle to nestle in against Aden. Some of the lingering anxiety drained out of Aden at that--they still _fit_. “Love you,” he murmured into G’raha’s ear, and laid a kiss in his hair at the base of it. G’raha’s tail snaked over his leg, seeking his, and he gave a little sigh as they twined together.

What a lovesick pair they made, wrung out but happy as they rode slowly into Revenant’s Toll by starlight.


	2. Sunshine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Warrior of Light attends the Moonfire Faire... and actually enjoys it for once.
> 
> Originally posted here: <https://archiveofourown.org/works/25961287>

“Well, _naturally_ after Thancred arrived in an unclothed state I made a point of--” G’raha’s ear twitched as his linkpearl went off, and he spared a, “pardon me, just a moment,” to Krile. Nearly everyone in the _world_ who had his frequency was in the building, so he took a gamble with his greeting as he pressed a finger to the linkpearl to answer and said, softly, “Hello, love.”

Krile grinned and crossed her arms, leaning back on her heels as she watched him. On the other end of the connection he heard a quiet huff of breath, a little pleasantly surprised sound--it was different from before, when they’d been together on the First, but he could imagine Aden’s ears perking and his tail curling up all the same. _You came back._ He knew exactly what that meant. G’raha couldn’t help but smile himself, tail swishing behind him, reveling in that startled gratitude just to hear him answer a _linkpearl_. “Hey,” Aden finally answered, voice low and a little breathy, and the tip of G’raha’s tail curled. “Uh. The Adventurer Guild asked me to handle something out at Costa and I thought you might be interested.”

“ _Absolutely._ I’ve never been to have attuned to the aetheryte there, but I _have_ been to Limsa Lominsa, so it shouldn’t be much trouble. I mean, that is, if you think I’ll be of--”

“ _Raha._ ” G’raha exhaled softly in relief as Aden cut him off in that firm, gentle tone of voice so familiar from their younger days. To anyone else, _from_ anyone else it might be rude, but G’raha heard the unspoken : _you are more than enough_. “I’m in Limsa now. I’ll wait for you and we’ll take the ferry together.”

“I shan’t be long.” Both of them lingered, a little silence between them--a soft unwillingness to part, to be the first to say farewell. He imagined Aden on the other end, looking down and smiling, the tip of his tail still curled, the hand not on his linkpearl perhaps sheepishly tucked into a pocket.

“Love you,” Aden murmured, voice warm and rich as late afternoon sunlight on old, polished wood. “See you soon.”

The connection broke, and G’raha looked back to find Krile practically _beaming_ at him. “What?” He couldn’t manage an indignant tone, still smiling and tail getting the better of him.

“Nothing important,” she said, but her smile remained. “Where are you headed?”

“Costa del Sol,” he answered, and relayed Aden’s request.

Krile’s eyes crinkled up at the edges even further, and she raised a hand to her chin. “Do you even own anything appropriate to wear to such a place? I should think not, after all this time….”

“Ah--’tis not that sort of--it’s _business_ ,” he finally settled on.

Krile merely laughed and waved him on. “Go on about your business, then. You can finish telling me the story another time.”

G’raha exhaled softly, hesitating just a moment. He finally _had_ time, and the leisure to make such promises, and what a relief that was.

* * *

The ferry to Costa del Sol was _full_ , and G’raha supposed he should expect that in the middle of summer. The sun beat down blistering hot through the fresh breeze, and the sea glittered, and he sat pressed close to Aden by the crush of other riders, tails twined together behind them. When the ferry turned them out G’raha nearly lost a step in the soft sand, counterbalancing hard with his tail. He’d known Costa del Sol was a resort, a town dedicated almost solely to leisure, but between the balloons and the throngs of scantily-clad people and the music it seemed clear--”Is this some sort of--festival?”

“ _Shit_ , that’s right, you’ve never been, have you?” Aden’s tail brushed his as they made their way up the beach. His jaw tensed, brief as if he’d thought of something then quickly dismissed it. “Adventurer Guild runs it, and something goes wrong every year, seems like. Since I’m just about the only person they can find who isn’t _partying_ , I’m usually the one who fixes it.”

He could imagine it now, the unflappably stoic Warrior of Light showing up on the beach in full drachenmaille and pointedly ignoring the festivities. At least Aden had opted for his armored jacket instead, the pale swathes of leather almost blinding white in the sun. “I have heard of the festival,” G’raha said. “I was rather pre-occupied before, though. It never crossed my mind to attend.”

Aden made a soft little _hn_ sound. “They had an obstacle course last year--you’d’ve liked it. If you want to have a look around while I go find out what’s wrong, I’ll come find you.”

They paused in the scant shade of a palm, G’raha’s tail coiling behind him--but he searched Aden’s face and knew this wasn’t a dismissal, it was _permission_. He wanted to remain by Aden’s side, but this was an opportunity to recapture some small piece of what he’d spent a lifetime denying himself. “I believe I shall,” he answered. Aden reached up to squeeze his shoulder, chin tilting up and a smile curling his lips--G’raha couldn’t help but return it.

While Aden wandered off to find his contact, G’raha made his way over to the bar that seemed to be the center of attention. He squeezed in between a rather large xaela man and a pale haired seeker woman in a silver bikini, and waited for a bartender to turn his way.

"... _always_ shows up. It's a good place to watch him in action and cut your teeth on reporting; this way when you just get stories and eye witness accounts you'll have an idea what you're dealing with."

"Got it." G'raha's ears perked and swiveled to the right. He leaned in just enough to look down the bar and saw a pair of plainsfolk, an older man leaning on the bar while a younger woman scribbled notes furiously.

"First thing's first, forget _everything_ you've read about the Warrior of Light in those tawdry one gil romance novels. He's a right _arsehole_ if you get anything out of him at all, a perpetual loner, with a stick the size of his damn spear up his backside. He's most willing to talk right after a fight, the bloodier the better." The man leaned over to watch his young companion writing furiously, waiting until she caught up. "You know who Tataru Taru is?" The woman nodded as she wrote. "If you see her _do not_ approach the Warrior. Don't even try. She's like one of those bloody Doman ninjas, stop you in your tracks if you have a quill in hand and so much as look _sideways_ at the Warrior." The man straightened and turned around on his stool, as if saying the Scions' secretary's name might summon her. He seemed satisfied and leaned on the bar with both arms this time.

"We'll only have a short window of time," he continued. "He'll be in and out as fast as possible, never stays for the faire. Thankfully he's always alo--" The man looked up and made eye contact for just an instant before his gaze skipped up--just as a familiar hand settled on G’raha's shoulder.

"Hey," Aden said, so close to one ear G’raha felt the warmth of his breath. "You ready?"

G'raha smirked at the reporter as his eyes widened and his jaw dropped open. He didn’t linger, though, turning to face Aden instead, found him so close he was practically pinned against the bar. A hand on his hip and half a step forward and the position would be… _incredibly_ intimate. As it was, it was just _necessary_ in the crowd. Regardless, he stumbled on his response of, _I am at your disposal,_ and it came out, “I am yours.”

Aden’s ears perked forward, and a sly little grin curled his lips. “I’d hope so, by now.” G’raha felt his face flush as they picked their way out of the crowd. “I’m glad I called you,” Aden said as they broke out into open air. Somehow the sun felt _less_ heated than the crush of people had been once Aden arrived. “I’m not sure I’m up to this.”

“What do you mean?”

Aden’s gait slowed, letting G’raha get shoulder-to-shoulder with him as he explained the task set before him--and the rather _unique_ control system for the bombard. He looked askance, a little tension in his jaw. “I told them I can’t do it.”

“ _Why?_ ” spilled out over G’raha’s lips, even though he already knew the answer.

A hundred ways to refute it played through his head as Aden sighed and then spoke. “I can’t _dance_. I’m just going to make an ass of myself, except this time there’ll be consequences.” He looked everywhere _but_ G’raha, mismatched eyes, one rich green and one honeyed amber, seeking any distraction. “You know how it is.”

G’raha stopped, crossing his arms, tail swishing behind him. Aden stopped just a second later, turning around to face him. For a fleeting moment he made eye contact, then fixed his gaze somewhere to one side of G’raha’s face. “You danced well enough in the celebration of the defeat of the sin eaters.”

“Alisaie _made_ me.”

“And our _wedding_.”

“ _Well_ ,” Aden said, and gestured vaguely with one hand.

It seemed no follow-up was forthcoming, so G’raha took a step closer and reached out, running his fingers down the short, neat line of beard along Aden’s jaw to tilt his chin up. “Love, look at me, please.” Aden’s gaze shifted to meet his immediately, and G’raha just _watched_ for a moment--the tension in his jaw, the way his eyes fought not to look away, the almost imperceptible slouch in his shoulders. “How is it any different from fighting?”

Aden’s mouth opened slightly, presumably to answer, then closed and his eyes narrowed very slightly. “The rhythm’s always wrong,” he answered. “The weight of the spear and meeting resistance form a counterpoint. It _feels_ right. It matches up with the song.” He settled his hands on his hips and leaned his head back with a sharp inhale, ears shifting backwards. “And I don’t give a damn if people watch me fight. I'm good at that. Here, everyone who's not chasing a tail is watching to see what I'll do."

Finally they cut to the heart of the matter. Aden wasn’t wrong--G'raha had noticed many stares and whispers, and the two reporters waiting for Aden’s arrival proved not _merely_ those present were eager to know his business. Indeed, this very fact had proved quite fortunate in G'raha's research, and he still possessed a small collection of entirely fictitious stories that further proved Aden right. The word the reporter had been about to say, _alone_ , rung in his head, and G'raha's ears perked with a sudden thought. He ran his fingers down the line of Aden’s jaw again, leaning in close as he caught his chin in the palm of his hand. "What if I could guarantee only _one_ person will be watching you?"

Aden’s eyes widened, his ears flicking back and forth once and his tail curling up high behind him, and G'raha pulled him into a kiss. It was an impulsive decision, and perhaps ill considered, but he could _guarantee_ all eyes would be on him instead. Aden returned the kiss enthusiastically, leaning into him slightly, and G’raha pushed for more, letting go of Aden’s chin and wrapping his arms around him. He growled softly, possessively, and Aden responded with a little snatch of a purr. They’d agreed to make no secret of their relationship here, yet this was _exceptionally_ forward. Aden _melted_ into him a little, and while he wasn’t as strong in this body as he had been in the one augmented by the Tower he still took Aden’s weight into a shallow dip. They weren’t so far from the crowd of faire-goers, but the world narrowed down to just this: the man in his arms and the warm lips under his. Perhaps some dim and distant part of him heard the murmur in the crowd, or the soft click of someone using a tomestone to capture an image--it was half the point, after all. He’d give them someone _else_ to talk about.

Finally they parted with a shared slow blink, and with Aden still in his arms G’raha murmured, “Will you dance with me?”

Aden stared up at him for a moment, still held low, the slits of his pupils a little wider than the bright sun dictated, lips parted. “Yes,” he breathed.

They drew apart, straightening, but the back of their hands brushed, and Aden twined their fingers together. Aden had done the same for him, earlier, during their call, and a warmth welled up in him at the thought that he had returned the favor.

* * *

At this point G’raha’s standard for _bizarre_ was quite skewed, and using dance to direct a bombard to attack a giant landwalking shark barely registered--but it certainly seemed _ridiculous_. Based on the stories that’d survived of Aden’s adventures, he’d expected dire circumstances and unbelievable stakes--the sort of adventures he’d been sending Aden on. They slowly made their way towards Gegeruju’s bungalow, and as they walked G’raha looked out across the ocean, back towards the island with all of its fairegoers. He finally laughed, full-throated and immeasurably delighted. “It beggars belief--you said something like this happens every year?”

“Yeah.” He gestured with one hand as they walked, straight out in front of himself, palm up and lowering his hand. “One year it involved these folks in color coded armor posing like they belonged in one of those Hingan comics--uh, have you…?” A mismatched gaze darted his direction.

G’raha nodded, still laughing under his breath. “Only rarely; they weren’t a common import to Sharlayan. I have one of _you_ , though, I’m shocked you haven’t seen it by now.”

Aden gave an indignant scoff, curling his lip slightly. “It’s one of the raunchy ones, isn’t it?”

“There’s certainly a risque scene, yes, but less so than _most_ of the pieces I collected from that region. Now that I think on it, it is rather curious that most of the fiction I obtained from that region seems to lean into the lewd….”

While G’raha trailed off Aden shook his head, ears flicking to the sides. “Alisaie collects them, ever since we passed through Kugane, so I know more than I care to.”

They paused briefly to let a crab scuttle past towards the receding tide, and even as he followed it with his eyes G’raha’s mind churned on the fight. “Have you had any other particularly ridiculous adventures? Aside from here.”

Aden made a quiet, exasperated noise. “Moogles.”

G’raha responded with a sharp laugh. “They were still terrified of you, you know, two hundred years later--I may have tricked them into thinking I was your ghost to get what I needed from them.”

“ _Good_.” Aden grinned wolfishly, bumped G’raha’s shoulder with his. “Then there’s Hildibrand. Hells, I’m surprised he hasn’t shown up somewhere yet.” His ears twitched as if seeking signs of the aforementioned man. “He’s an absolute menace. I avoid him as much as I can, but his assistant keeps getting my linkpearl frequency. I’ve changed it almost twice a year just because of them.” The story Aden told then sounded truly _mad_ in every way, and had G’raha in stitches by the time they neared Gegeruju’s bungalow. “That’s not even _half_ of it,” he said, making a sharp but tightly contained gesture with one hand.

* * *

The day wore on into late afternoon before everything was said and done--the performance, their reward disbursed (for all his flaws Gegeruju paid them like he knew what the Warrior of Light’s time was worth), and one last piece of business for which G’raha briefly ducked away to speak with their contact alone. He returned with their performance garb bundled under one arm only to find Aden stopped at the boat launch, surrounded by the rest of the Scions all attired for the faire. He jogged to catch up, slowing only when he reached earshot.

"--told me you and G’raha were already here--oh, hello, G’raha!" Tataru paused just long enough to give him a cheery wave. "And I thought, you know, that's just the thing to welcome everyone back home. We've all been working so hard or worried half to death, what could be better than a relaxing afternoon at the beach? We so rarely take the time to just enjoy one another’s company." She looked both of them up and down, her beaming smile shifting into a little frown and furrowed brow. "You’re not dressed like you're here for the faire… and you weren't about to leave, were you?"

Aden’s gaze quickly darted from Tataru across each of the others, and his ears fell back slightly. “We just came out here to help out,” he answered, “not for the faire.”

“ _However_ ,” G’raha chimed in, stepping smoothly up next to Aden and bumping his shoulder gently with his, “I _did_ manage to acquire our attire from the performance, and this _is_ my first time visiting Costa del Sol.”

He watched the moment of indecision in the subtle shift of Aden’s ears, knew the little huff that escaped him for conflict. He was unused to such things before their relationship began on the First, and returning _home together_ put his newfound freedom in conflict with his intense restraint. Finally he nodded, the start of a smile warming his features. “We’ll stay.”

“Oh, splendid!” Tataru gestured excitedly, absolutely glowing. “I’ll arrange for somewhere to stow your gear with all the other little things I need to handle--why don’t you two go stake out a good patch of beach in the meantime? Oh,” she said, turning around and gesturing at Alisaie with both arms in a motion that seemed to say _hand it over._

Alisaie reached into a satchel she carried and pulled out a very wide brimmed straw hat that had been carefully folded in half, and shook it back into shape as she handed it over. “This arrived just after G’raha left.” She grinned mischievously as she added, “From your mother.”

The others filtered out onto the beach after Tataru, leaving Aden and G’raha standing there for a moment. “Is she… still sending you clothes, after all this time?” Aden nodded, examining the hat. “I should very much like to meet your mothers.”

“We’ll make some time, soon,” Aden said, taking the hat in one hand and sliding the other into G’raha’s. “They’re going to love you.”

* * *

Tataru arranged for beach blankets and umbrellas and every little comfort each of the Scions could’ve wanted. On his way back from the changing room G’raha stopped first with a flower vendor wandering the beach with a crate full of blooms, then by the bar once more. This time a bartender noticed him almost immediately, and he turned to look back towards the changing rooms while waiting on his order. Aden stepped out in the turquoise wrap he'd grudgingly worn for the performance, the bright color a brilliant contrast against his sun-dark skin, and g’raha began scheming on how he might convince Aden to wear it more often. It was a lovely contrast, too, to G’raha’s own rich red wrap.

Almost immediately the older plainsfolk reporter G’raha had overheard earlier rushed up to Aden, and Aden’s ears flicked, tail lashing behind him as the man peppered him with questions. He snarled, quite obviously saying something rather rude, and then suddenly Tataru was there, just as the reporter had claimed she would be, somehow exuding a commanding and professional air in her ruffled swimsuit.

“Excuse me.” G’raha turned to look the other way, and found the younger reporter at his side. “I’m with the Harbor Beacon--might I have a few words from you on the events at the faire this year?”

G’raha glanced from her to the bartender, then back to Aden, who had not yet managed to extricate himself from the situation--the reporter over there was still stubbornly addressing him. Finally he looked back to the woman on a high stool next to him, notebook open and chewed up stub of a pencil at the ready. “I believe I have a moment to spare,” he answered.

“Great! Thank you so much. I couldn’t help but notice your tattoos--you’re a Sharlayan Archon, are you not?”

“Yes,” he said, one ear flicking a little as he did so--that seemed an _exceptionally_ odd question to start with.

“What subject did you earn that station in?”

“Allagan history,” G’raha answered, a little more slowly. “I thought you wanted to talk about the faire?”

“We’re getting to that,” she said, scribbling away in some shorthand he couldn’t quite decipher. “I just need to make sure I get the details right for attribution and to give a real human interest to the story. Are you a member of the Scions of the Seventh Dawn?”

That explanation seemed reasonable enough, so he continued. “Yes, but only of late. I’m a very junior member.”

“I see, I see.” She continued scribbling, not looking up again even as she asked, “And your name?”

“G’raha.”

“Is that Tia or Nuhn?”

“Dellebecque.”

The tip of her pencil snapped and she stared at it for a moment as if she couldn’t quite process the event. Then she finally looked up at him, eyes wide, then quickly down at the ring on his hand, then back up, and finally past him. “Shite,” escaped her on a breath, very, very quietly.

“Excuse me!” He looked down to see Tataru drawing up to his side. “All questions for the Scions should be directed through me. I’ll handle this, G’raha--and your tab, don’t worry.” He looked from her back to the bar, and the bartender who had evidently been placing his order down on the counter and frozen mid-motion, staring at him. The bartender blinked owlishly once, twice, and then seemed to remember himself just in time for G’raha to take everything and flee.

* * *

“She was probably using it as a pretense to find out who you were, after all that,” Aden gestured vaguely off in the direction of _everywhere else on the island_ \--meaning their kiss and the dozen other little public displays of affection. “Who did she say she was with again?”

“The Harbor Beacon.” G’raha looked up from his work weaving the flowers into the hat just in time to catch Aden scowling.

“They’re not one of the major papers. Got a name that _sounds_ like the Harbor Herald so people will confuse them. It’s a gossip rag, though. Kind of place that runs stories about people turning their carbuncles into weirder things, or claiming they’ve found evidence this or that’s actually from the void.” He drew his knees up and draped both arms over them, holding the drink G’raha had brought him in one hand. It showed off a scandalous amount of leg, which G’raha couldn’t help but peek at. “You’d be hard pressed to pick a worse place to break that we’re a couple, let alone _bonded_ , apparently in secret as far as they’ll be able to tell.”

“My apologies.” He looked back down at his work, ears drooping and tail slapping sheepishly at the beach blanket. “I didn’t realize. Should you wish to refute them, I’ll--”

“Hey.” Aden dropped one leg, still bent, to the side to lean over and lay a hand on G’raha’s knee. “I don’t give a damn who knows, or how they find out. In fact, I want _everybody_ to know. I’ll shout it from the roof of the bloody cathedral in Ishgard.” That pulled a quiet laugh from G’raha in spite of his mood, and he looked up to find a bright smile on Aden’s face, mismatched eyes particularly lovely in the afternoon sun. “Just don’t be surprised if they find some barmy bugger to claim there’s a love child involved. _Somehow_.”

G’raha reached up and brushed a stray lock of hair out of his eyes opposite the side he’d pinned up, the uneasiness in his chest settling. “Well, _technically_ we do have a granddaughter.”

“She looks like she ate a whole lemon every time I call her that.”

G’raha chuckled, imagining the expression--he’d certainly seen it before many times as Lyna grew under his care. He glanced out across the beach at the water, brilliant blue and lovely, worrying at the hat in his lap with his fingers. “I wish she could be here.”

“Kholusia’ll be like this, one day.” Aden squeezed his knee gently. “She’ll have her own Costa del Sol.”

“She will,” he said, as pride overwhelmed sorrow at the thought he might never see Lyna again, that he could not share the beauty of the Source with her--replaced instead with the knowledge that she was on the right path to build a better world. He turned back, brushed the back of his hand over his eyes, then looked down at the hat. “‘Tis done, I believe.” He proudly offered it to Aden, who instead ducked his head and let G’raha place it.

The hat was _huge_ , covering his ears and almost all of his short red-streaked-gold hair, the brim stretching well past his shoulders--it was like a private little sun parasol. But that was the _point_. The rustic style suited him, and the flowers, too--G’raha had come to associate him with flowers after nearly a year of a fresh, fae-preserved bouquet appearing weekly on his desk in a humble little ribbon-wrapped jar, even in the dead of Lakeland’s first winter in a hundred years. The habit hadn’t failed so far, as he’d awoken in the Rising Stones to flowers in an equally humble glass at his bedside, even if the blooms weren’t quite so keenly preserved. He wondered how foolish it would be to press them before they faded, and where he’d keep all the books of flowers.

“There’s one left,” Aden pointed out, before he put his drink down and snatched the remaining flower out of G’raha’s lap. He pinched off some of the long stem, then leaned forward and very carefully tucked it in behind one set of pins in G’raha’s hair. “There.” He lingered close, dropping his hand just enough to brush his thumb across G’raha’s cheek. “We match.”

“I get a tooth ache just _walking up_ to you two.” They both looked up to find Alisaie looming over them, arms crossed and grinning, hip cocked. She wore a bathing suit that looked as if it were meant to be particularly streamlined, offering as little resistance as possible in water. “If you’re quite done making doe eyes at one another, I’ve just challenged Thancred to a race, but he’ll only agree to go if one of you will as well.”

Aden had to tilt his head back a little further to see her on account of the hat’s very large brim. “What kind of race?”

“Out to that rock and back,” she said, pointing at a large stone in deeper water. “Do you think you’re up for it?”

“All three of us’ll have an unfair advantage over G’raha,” Aden said. “On account of the Kojin blessing, and Thancred’s… _talent_.” The way Aden said that word implied something _lewd_ , and G’raha’s ears perked with the curiosity of gossip.

“Above water only, then,” G’raha said, tail lashing excitedly behind him. “That should even the playing field.”

A few moments later they lined up at the water’s edge, Aden and G’raha’s wraps divested for the somewhat less cumbersome but _certainly_ immodest attire beneath, waiting for Krile’s count. As soon as she shouted, “ _Go!_ ” they raced forward, Alisaie immediately leaping ahead. G’raha managed to beat her to the water by a nose, but as soon as they all hit the water Aden surged ahead, Thancred close behind. The water grew deeper and darker further from shore, the glittering teal giving way to a rich blue, and he remembered blue light cast on an unfamiliar ceiling, salty mist and blue light. Even after all this time and in a different body he ached at the memory, but he grit his teeth and pushed through as he had then. The depths were a source of both fear and _resolve_ , even as that terrible sense of betrayal and violation flashed unbidden through his mind. He was elsewhere, for a moment, in two places and times at once--this both was and was not a friendly race. He called to mind the handful of times he’d been close to Aden in combat as the Exarch, the feeling of his aether resonating through crystal during a jump, and the even fewer times he’d experienced it first-hand held close in Aden’s arms. There was a gathering of momentum, he knew, converting it into aetheric force, and as he approached the rock he pushed harder, pulling ahead very briefly, rolling over in his chest the _feeling_ of increasing speed. Everyone else touched the rock first, slapping a hand on it and turning or kicking off. G’raha bunched himself up and touched down with his feet--there was a critical moment, he knew, in the shifting of direction--and there it was, the _feeling_ of wheeling about, a heartbeat of weightlessness. All that gathered momentum he pushed off against the rock, _flung_ himself towards shore in the water. He surged forward by a full length, and continued pushing until he reached shore.

G’raha stumbled up onto the beach winded and dizzy, panting, and planted himself in the sand, turning to watch the others. Alisaie worked her way up shortly after, barely winded and grinning madly. “I’ll concede that was well done.”

He didn’t quite have his breath, and just raised a hand at her. “Are you alright?” Alphinaud chimed in, and he nodded, gesturing with a circular motion. Alphinaud frowned at him, but let him be. “I think I’ll stick close for a moment, just to be sure.”

Aden drew up onto shore at almost the same time as Thancred, and while the later bent over to catch his breath Aden just strode up to G’raha, laughing softly, tail lashing behind him. “That was clever,” he said, practically _beaming_ with pride. “Risky, but clever. You’re probably going to be feeling it in a couple bells.”

“I’m feeling it now,” he gasped out, but grinned up at Aden all the same, pleased he’d noticed the little trick.

“What?” Alisaie asked, glancing between them, then settling on peering at G’raha.

“He jumped,” Aden said. “Or as close to it as you can get without training. Probably figured it out from watching me do it so many times.”

“I could tell what you were doing, before,” he managed, and raised his right arm, spread his fingers. “In the crystal. I’ve got a vague idea of how it works.”

“Well don’t do it again unless you want to practice it some, if you get the timing wrong you can flatten yourself. Or worse, if--”

“You _what_?” Alisaie set her fists on her hips, arms akimbo. “I could’ve used my own skills, but I didn’t--that’s _cheating_.”

“You didn’t say anything about it beforehand.” Thancred straightened up, laughing as he spoke. “How can it be cheating if we didn’t make a rule? He just outsmarted us. Which he seems to be quite good at.”

“Indeed.” G’raha craned his neck to see Y’shtola approaching from behind, her black swimwear leaving _very little_ to the imagination, with a pair of silver sandals that laced almost to her knees in graceful arcs. He found himself slightly _jealous_ ; he’d never had a taste for the ostentatious, but he’d grown fond of that style in his time as the Exarch. Urianger trailed close behind, dressed much more modestly in long shorts and a loose, unbuttoned top. “I _saw_ that from across the beach,” she said, leaning forward and gesturing at him with one hand, palm up. “‘Twas cleverly done, but very inefficient.” Urianger cleared his throat next to her, and Y’shtola made a soft sound somewhere high in her throat. “Regardless. We overheard from some of the other fairegoers that you were tasked with controlling a bombard through some traditional lalafellin dance?” She inclined her head towards them, one elegant eyebrow raised as if in disbelief.

“That’s right,” Aden answered, after just a moment of hesitation, looking between the two of them as if waiting for a punchline.

“Wouldst thou do us the honor of demonstrating this dance?” Urianger raised a hand, pointing upwards in a painfully familiar gesture. “We were curious should there be aught to be gleaned about the aetheric mechanisms of control.”

Aden sighed softly, but he gave no other outward reaction, merely looked down at G’raha. “You up for it?”

“Soon as I catch my breath.”

Aden went to retrieve their wraps, and while he was gone Alisaie grumbled a little more about his win. “We’ll have to have a rematch,” she insisted. “With better laid out rules.”

G’raha grinned up at her confidently. “Any time.”

Alisaie met his gaze, eyes blazing, but a hungry smile curled her lips. She opened her mouth to reply, but Krile cut her off. “I know that look--not right now! Goodness, you haven’t been home a full sennight and you’re already all back at your old tricks.”

G’raha craned his head to the side to look at Krile, still grinning. “But would you have it any other way?” She kicked a little sand at him in reply, and he yelped in surprise, laughing. By the time Aden returned, already wearing his wrap again and the hat with the woven flowers, Alisaie had joined in and they’d half-buried him in sand. Aden looked from the three of them, all laughing and struggling with each other, to the others, ears perked in curious confusion. Out of the corner of his eye G’raha caught Thancred’s shrug of reply

“I should be happy of Alisaie’s distraction,” he heard Alphinaud mutter. “That she is focused on someone _other_ than me for--”

“Is that _so?_ ” Alisaie rose from her crouch scooping up sand, and broke into a run, tackling Alphinaud towards the water. “Don’t think I’ve forgotten about your swimming lesson!”

“My _what_?” Alphinaud squawked.

“I signed you up for a swimming lesson! It should be soon, anyroad, come on!”

“You _signed me up_ for--without _asking_ \--I--” Alisaie succeeded in dragging him off down the beach despite his protests.

“Nice to see everything’s back to normal,” Aden muttered, and a laugh bubbled up out of G’raha, bright and warm. “I think you were right, Tataru.” When Aden offered him an arm G’raha took it, and let Aden pull him up out of the pile of sand.

“Of course I was right! Everyone’s getting a little color back and enjoying themselves--speaking of maybe it’s time to go get everyone another round of drinks…”

He waded back into the water to get rid of some of the sticking sand, and then let Aden tie the wrap back on for him, reveling for a moment in being in the circle of his arms. He leaned in a little, resting his cheek against Aden’s, flicked one ear to brush his and shifted his head ever so slightly to feel the rub of Aden’s short, well-kept line of beard against his skin. That earned a soft, short huff of a laugh, the faintest rumble of a purr beneath it, felt as much as heard this close. “Enjoying yourself?”

“Very much so,” G’raha answered, the murmur of a purr under his own voice. As he finished Aden pulled back just enough to look at him, but still under the shade of the brim of the ridiculous hat. A soft smile curled his lips while his hands trailed up to G’raha’s arms, holding him gently. Everything about the look was subtle--the little crinkle to the edge of his eyes, the sparkle in them, the slight draw of the scar on his cheek--but it was a smile with everything, his face, his posture, and even in the shade it felt like basking in the warmth of the sun. Aden leaned down and kissed him, gently, their lips parting for one another but neither seeking more. There was no less passion in it than earlier, but a slower, deeper sort-- _my heart is full of you_ , it seemed to say, and when they drew apart G’raha answered with a slow blink. _I could want for nothing more._

Y’shtola cleared her throat, and they looked up from each other to see her standing with Thancred and Urianger, the latter pointedly looking away but smiling. “Much as we enjoy one another’s company, things are starting to get a bit _awkward_ , Sunshine.”

G’raha burst out laughing as Aden’s ears flicked and his lip curled--it wasn’t so different from the expression he’d commented on Lyna making. _“Sunshine?_ ” he repeated. “Really?”

“It suits your new disposition.” Thancred crossed his arms, grinning wolfishly. “Seems fitting.”

“Indeed,” Y’shtola said, tail curling mischievously behind her. “I am not easily moved to frivolous poetics, but… Thancred is right.”

Urianger finally looked at them, nodding. “‘Tis as if a storm has broken, the clouds parted, and we behold the sun for the first time.”

Aden’s hands tightened slightly on G’raha’s arms, and he looked down at him, still laughing helplessly. “Well….” His snarl bloomed back into a soft smile. “I can’t say I’m particularly inclined to object anymore.”

They showed the others the dance _together_ , Aden finding the rhythm he lacked outside of combat in the sway of G’raha’s hips, and by the time the sun began to dip behind the horizon _all_ the Scions were there dancing together.

* * *

Night fell, and with it the sweet ocean breeze shifted, turning the air deliciously chill. Someone shouted to announce the fireworks show, and they all retreated to their blankets. By this point G’raha was feeling his earlier stunt in sharp cramps through his calves and thighs, and he hissed as Aden eased him down. “Still can’t believe you did that,” Aden muttered, taking G’raha into the circle of his arms and letting him lean against him.

G’raha flicked his cheek with one ear, nestling in against him. “I suppose this is what you meant by feeling it later?”

“Yeah. I’ve got something for it, back at the Rising Stones. Hot bath’ll help, too.” The first set of fireworks went off, brilliant blooms of light against the lovely sky. G’raha glanced away to find Alphinaud and Alisaie sitting on a blanket, Alisaie on her stomach with her heels kicked up, both of them watching intently. Tataru approached them as he watched, taking her place on the blanket. A little further on he saw Urianger and Thancred, Y’shtola to their side and listening intently as they described the show for her. Krile had headed back early, citing the day had been a bit bright for her complexion. There were other Scions scattered around the beach, those who’d happened to be in when Tataru announced the trip.

One of Aden’s hands trailed down, fingers slipping under the slit in the wrap and gently massaging some of the cramp out of his thigh. “You _did_ win, though.” G’raha heard the grin in his voice, lips brushing against his temple as another shower of light glittered in the distance. “What’s your reward?”

“I already have it,” he murmured, a contented purr rumbling through his chest. “Right here.”

* * *

In the morning G’raha woke aching in every muscle in his legs, but so much less so than he expected. A great yawn popped his jaw, and he carefully wobbled out of bed. He made himself presentable enough before stumbling out into the common room, and dropped into a seat between Thancred and Aden. The latter was drinking from a mug of what smelled like especially bitter coffee, and G’raha wrinkled his nose at it a little, even as Aden reached over with his free hand to settle it on G’raha’s leg.

“It seems your reporter friend was _very_ busy last night,” Thancred said, and tossed a slender newspaper down in front of G’raha. There in black and white was a print of Aden and himself, from a rather unflattering angle, in the moment G’raha had grabbed him for a kiss. _WARRIOR OF LIGHT ATTENDS MOONFIRE FAIRE WITH MYSTERY PARAMOUR Who Is This Strange Young Man?_ A little further down the article there was another, smaller image of a sobbing seeker woman. _I HAD THE WARRIOR OF LIGHT’S BABY AND HE’S MARRIED ANOTHER! SECRET SHAM WEDDING TO EVADE FATHERHOOD?_

G’raha made a soft, disgruntled sound. “You weren’t joking,” he deadpanned.

Aden’s hand squeezed his thigh gently as he put down his coffee. “No, I was not. Fortunately, Tataru and Thancred called in a few favors, and I happen to know someone with a little influence myself. Show him the other one.”

Thancred produced a much thicker newspaper, this one with both a much higher print and paper quality. _The Raven_ it read on top, and the headline was a perfectly normal story about Gridanian involvement in the Alliance--but beneath that there was a lovely black-and-white image of them standing on the beach in the moment just after Aden had tied his wrap on, G’raha’s ears relaxed low to evade the brim of the hat. The image was taken from a low angle, somewhere _very_ close by, and it happened to catch the ring on Aden’s hand. It was in every way a _gorgeous_ image of them, closer to a full crystallograph in quality, and captured the love on their faces in candid perfection. YOUNG LOVE-- _Warrior of Light Steps Out at Moonfire Faire as Newlywed_.

“Who took this one?” G’raha asked, blinking rapidly and ears perking as he woke up a bit more. Perhaps it was the beautiful image, or perhaps the contact high from Aden’s coffee.

Krile cleared her throat behind him, and G’raha twisted in his seat to see her holding up a tomestone with the same image displayed on the screen. She was indeed shellfish red underneath her cloak, face covered in freckles, but grinning brightly. “The _real_ reason I left early,” she said. “Tataru and I determined it would be least suspicious, and Aden’s friend was more than kind enough to meet me on short notice. Thancred actually wrote the article.”

“I suspect some of us will be getting angry or concerned linkpearl calls today,” Aden said, picking up his mug again, “but this is a start.”

G’raha looked back down at the paper, grinning like a fool at the image and the headline. A start, indeed.


	3. A Horror in Crystal

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Krile dreams, guided by the Echo.
> 
> She dreams of something a friend hopes never to see.
> 
> Originally posted here: <https://archiveofourown.org/works/26351926>

She has, by this point, set foot in the Tower, but only for a few long hours over a scarce handful of days. It is not so _familiar_ as this, detail so fine as to mark every inclusion in the crystal, every vein of gold, the crisp, slightly ozone smell of the place, the echoing sensation of vastness, and the varying strange sounds--the pitches are different, more harmonic than the ones she encountered, and some are entirely foregin to her ears, things she is confident she _could not_ have detected. She sees the Tower through someone else’s eyes, then; hears it with someone else’s ears. Her heart beats with someone else’s determination blotting out any fear--and _that_ is an intimate sensation to her, one she has felt many times at the end of her sixth sense.

There’s a crackling sound, a cry of pain, and for one instant a spike of fear wins over determination. She turns--because she both is and is not herself here, slowly disentangling herself from the senses of the heart through which she entered this vision--in time to see Raha-- _The Exarch_ , she corrects herself--falling. It is a split second before the vector of her vision turns, rushing to catch him. Krile stands apart, watching, _feeling_. Crystal has exploded out of the Exarch to crawl across the chest of his robes, yet supple but crackling into inclusions, down his legs, over his hands--she knows, with some strange instinct, he has already given up the ring _her_ Raha now wears, to save it. The tone of his voice, hopeful, determined, full of _love_ matches the overwhelming mix of emotions practically _blasting_ out of him as Aden holds him through his pain. She hopes most fervently that his own less-than-reliable version of the Echo’s empathic gifts permitted him to feel this, and she wonders, now, which of them she’s really seeing this from.

“You silly old fool,” she murmurs to herself when Raha rises to his feet finally, and makes his stand. She moves to follow Aden, knowing from his version of events that she might catch something he did not through this vision, but as she reaches the next set of stairs there is a great presence behind her, and her vision darkens, as if a pair of hands have settled over her eyes.

 _Not this_ , a rich voice echoes through her head, very much like Aden’s. She recoils from it, trying to duck away, but the darkness follows. _This is too much._

“What do you mean, _too much?_ ” Rarely is a vision so interactive, even one from another Echo user, but this is downright _alarming_ , as if some third party intervenes.

 _Permit us some small dignity,_ the voice answers. In that twilight she feels impossible sunlight on her face, radiant and warm. _Let the dead pass in peace; let their grief remain private, and ours._

“Please, I _implore_ you, whoever you are; by witnessing Aden’s battle I might lend some of my expertise.”

 _You would see more than you’ve bargained for._ Now the _tone_ turns more familiar, more like Aden’s, and she wonders at that, because it _is_ and _is not_ him. _This isn’t a dream; it’s the end of a long nightmare._

Diplomacy, the Echo tells her, will not sway this immovable force, that it is stubborn unto death, and Krile reaches up to prise away the hands with an exertion of her will--and finds, in her shock, that they part like mist. Whatever barred her path is _elsewhere_ now--she senses it, just briefly, in the vision of Aden rising alongside Raha. They stand atop the Tower, in the throne room, and with some disappointment she realizes the battle is won. Raha lifts his hood, and Aden answers his smile with one of his own--there is a flash within a flash, darkly familiar, of cold despair and a large, lax hand gripped tight in two smaller, gauntleted ones. _A smile better suits a hero_ \--then it is gone, and she watches Raha take his place before the throne. “No,” pulls itself from her throat, soft. She had learned of this from the others--neither of them would speak of it, yet here it was before her unfolding--” _No.”_ Raha speaks of hope, of legacy, and Aden stands with him, and smiles all the while the crystal finally weaves all the way through his body, rendering him transparent in places where previously vague and distorted flesh had been unsettlingly visible through crystal. “ _No_ ,” becomes a plea, a mantra--because her damnable Echo has always felt so _real_. She was not here--she is here--and her feet carry her forward as she feels both the rising horror and despair in Aden, the subtle changes in the hum of the Tower through his ears, the crystal he grips delicately in his hand; and the moment Raha’s heart ceases to be flesh, the moment crystal overtakes his vision, the strange mix of _love_ and _catharsis_ as finally, finally--” _NO!”_

Aden falls to his knees and screams, pressing his head to cold crystal, and she is alarmingly aware of the feeling of that perfect statue of her dearest friend against bare skin. And yet she is scarcely aware of him, transfixed by this horror of hope--the friend she had now lost twice--and as she drew near reached out with one shaking hand--

* * *

Krile woke with a gasp, heart hammering in her chest, chills rolling over her body. Through a life wracked with vivid visions, rarely had one been so desperately close to her heart--and all the more real for strange feedback from Aden’s Echo. She rose shaking from the bed, nightgown flowing around her ankles, and regretted not slipping on shoes the moment her bare feet touched the stone floor, the shock cold as crystal. Yet she moved anyway, compelled by fear to leave her private chamber--the one luxury she had afforded herself on taking up residence in the Rising Stones to care for the fallen Scions, briefly her dear friend Minfilia’s old room--and confirm with her eyes that the vision’s results had been rectified. She stumbled in the low light of night time in the base, half groping her way to Dawn’s Respite. The door opened quietly, and she padded by the beds of each of the Scions, still recovering, sleeping soundly whether from exhaustion or medication, to the very last bed. It took some time for her eyes to adjust, but there they lay, tangled up in each other’s arms, Aden and her dear, dear Raha. They wore loose pajamas--Aden a gray shirt, Raha brown, much too large for him, and by one foot hanging off the bed a pair of soft dark blue pants printed with tiny chocobos, by their size both surely belonging to Aden. Not armor, or crystal-encrusted robes, just--simple. Humble. Asleep. There in front of her under an old quilt.

“Krile?” She startled at the low whisper of Aden’s voice, found his mismatched eyes staring at her in the dark, reflecting thin circles of pale light.

For a long moment she hesitated, unwilling to acknowledge she’d been caught watching them, or to disturb the moment, the evidence of her eyes. With each passing moment it seemed she needed one moment more, and her gaze drifted back to Raha, sleeping peacefully as Aden very carefully untangled himself from their shared embrace. “I saw,” she finally answered, voice small and soft.

Aden rose to sit on the edge of the bed, back popping just audibly, and gestured for her come around. She did so, moving automatically, and stopped when he leaned forward and put his hands on her shoulders. “I saw,” she repeated. “I saw him--”

“Don’t say it,” Aden whispered, a raw, desperate edge in his voice. “Don’t ever say it.” His eyes glittered with dampness in the dark, and that, finally, was too much. She swallowed a sob and tried to lean forward, to hide her tears, but he just drew her close into an embrace made awkward by the difference in their height. Her damnable Echo beat in time with his, for a moment, and she took some solace in that brief connection of shared mourning, despair--for something they both had and had not lost.

Behind Aden she heard a sleepy sound, a rustling of fabric. “Aden?” a half-asleep murmur, and then suddenly two red rings blinked owlishly at her out of the darkness.

“She saw,” Aden explained, voice rough.

“ _Oh,_ ” Raha breathed, and stared for a moment. She stared back, unable to say anything but to grope in the dark for him, to hope for her Echo to snag on some confirmation of his presence--just not _that_ , anything but _that_. “Come here,” he said, voice soft and beautiful and familiar in the darkness, not like it’d been in the vision, changed by time and encroaching crystal. Aden let go, and Krile clambered up into the bed and let Raha sweep her into a hug. “I’m here," he murmured against her hair. “I’m here, and whole, and I won’t be doing anything that foolish again.”

“I saw you,” she stammered through tears. “I saw you--I felt it-- _cold_.” A hand settled on her back, between Raha’s, a reassuring weight in counterpoint to his embrace.

“I’m here,” Raha repeated. “I’m not going anywhere.”

She wanted to believe him.

* * *

In the morning Krile woke pressed between them, eyes sticky with tears, as the other Scions began to rouse. She rose in a panic, waking both of them as she started to clamber out of the bed. They were her _friends_ , and wed beside, and while _she_ knew what had happened she wished to avoid--

“There are easily hundreds of people on this star who’d kill to be where you are now,” Alisaie said, grinning from the end of the bed as she lowered a tomestone from capturing an image. “Which paper will pay the most for _this_ one do you think, hm?”

“Ali _saie_ \--”

She dashed across the room, laughing, as Aden untangled himself from the quilt and launched after her. Behind her Raha laughed softly. “I’m glad to see some things remain the same no matter which star we find ourselves on.”

Krile turned, grinning, to find Raha looking after them as they dashed out the door, a gentle, _peaceful_ sort of happiness crinkling the corners of his eyes. “I’m glad you’re home, Raha.”

“So am I.”


	4. Lazy Morning

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> G'raha struggles with the needs of his new/old body and insecurity--and finds a very eager helping hand.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm breaking my vow to not have them bang post 5.3 until I've gotten there in Perfect. Please enjoy my extreme self indulgence.

Raha woke slowly, rising out of strange dreams half-remembered, indulging in the weight of the quilts above him and the heat of the body beneath him. One hand trailed over smooth muscle lax in sleep, and his hips stuttered instinctively, grinding softly against the thigh he half-straddled. Aden made a little sleepy sound, shifting slightly, and Raha stilled, remembering himself--he immediately rolled away, face flushed with something _other_ than lust.

This had been so much _easier_ on the First--he’d had more control over his body, hormones rarely getting the better of him, and the infamous biological urges of their people suppressed. He couldn’t even _get it up_ at all until their attunement, and then only with Aden close by--and that had suited the nature of their relationship quite well. His libido outpaced Aden’s by malms, but he’d been able to temper it--and with the bond between them he _knew_ Aden reciprocated his lust, that satisfying him was no burden or chore. Now, back in a young body unchanged by crystal, it was _every damn morning_ , waking next to possibly the most gorgeous man on this star--and no bond to reassure him. _Most_ mornings he could ignore it, but even as he laid there on his side at the far, cold edge of the bed, thinking on the most unappealing things he could bring to mind, he remained hard, remembering the smooth skin pressed against him, the subtle curve of hard planes of muscle, bare skin against his hardness--

Eyes screwed shut, Raha shamefully ran a hand down his stomach, at last wrapping his hand around his raging hard on, and slowly began to pump. He moved as quietly, as slowly as he could, not wanting to disturb Aden. Their sheets might tell the story later, but he’d contrive some reason to wash them--right now all that mattered was _getting off_ , the slide of his hand over his own velvety skin, the slick of precum offering scant lubrication. Unbidden the memory of a time they’d fucked dry flashed across his mind, too needy to wait, quick and hard, still high on battle-lust and barely out of sight in some shady bower--

At sudden heat at his back Raha jerked to a stop, utterly still, ears flat, as Aden pressed up against him--no answering hardness--but a muscular arm draped alongside his, a larger hand closed over his. “Good morning,” Aden murmured into his ear, fingers sliding between his. “Need a hand?”

Raha exhaled slowly, fighting the urge to melt into his love’s embrace. “That’s not--you don’t have to--”

“I _want_ to.” Aden nipped his ear, gently, teeth just scraping the shell in a way that made him shudder. He said it in the same tone as he had back on the First, when things were so much clearer, and Raha wanted _desperately_ to believe. He knew what Aden would tell him, even if he couldn’t _feel_ it anymore, and turned all his resistance to fighting that feeling that he was a burden, or in some way inadequate, or _too much_ \--Raha nodded, and slowly made himself relax. 

“Moment,” Aden murmured, and rolled away. The bed shifted slightly, and he heard a drawer open, then a jar. When Aden returned Raha let go of his hardness, and moaned when the newly slick heat of Aden’s hand wrapped around him and began to slowly pump. He returned his attention to Raha’s ear, teeth grazing the shell once more, an almost _claiming_ gesture--there’d been much more of _that_ since his return, not a full reversal of their roles but certainly more dominance on Aden’s part. Raha felt in some strange way _possessed_ , not owned but _belonging_ , dwelling on it in the thin space left in his mind between Aden’s lips nibbling up the edge of his ear and the hot flesh pressed against him and the hand wrapped around his cock. He felt strangely small, and in some deep, hidden part of his mind realized he had _needed_ this--needed Aden to take charge for a little while, as he came into his own once more and found his place. Needed that reassurance that he wasn’t _too much_ , that Aden still _wanted_ him like this, young and spry and _almost_ more mobile than him and _unbearably horny_ with all the force of a young miqo’te man. He draped his tail over Aden’s leg, seeking out his, and twined them together, and relaxed further into his embrace, letting himself twitch and thrust as his body dictated, letting himself be _moved_ by the trail of kisses down his neck and the stuttering need to follow Aden’s hand.

He drew near, a little gasp welling up out of his throat, and suddenly Aden’s hand stilled. Aden continued his other ministrations, plying his mouth wherever he saw fit--this time across the sensitive skin of Raha’s shoulder where he still remembered crystal--and Raha let him with a soft, needy sound. Eventually Aden started again, but this time, too, he stopped just as Raha’s peak drew near--this time earning a little sound of frustration. He felt a shake of silent laughter, and scowled, trying his hardest to thrust into Aden’s hand but trapped by their position.

“If you don’t let me come this time,” Raha gasped, seeking friction, “I think I shall _expire_.”

“Where’s your legendary patience?” Aden murmured into his shoulder, lips brushing his skin as he spoke. “You take so _long_ undoing me--I’m just repaying your kindness.”

“I haven’t toyed with you that way in some time,” Raha shot back, this time seeking friction the other direction. And yet no matter how he tried, it seemed he couldn’t get Aden more than half-hard. “ _Please_.”

“Make me.”

The growl of Aden’s voice lit an ancient fire in the pit of his stomach, the long-suppressed need to fight for dominance--he so rarely felt it, only when Aden wanted to stir him like this--and _that_ a game they had not played in a _very_ long time. He threw his weight into Aden just so, taking advantage of his bad back, and when Aden flattened on his back in the bed with a grunt Raha rolled with him, straddling him. Gone was the need to feel possessed, but the need _to possess_ \--one to which he knew Aden would gladly submit, and he in turn, but the contest had been called, and _need_ sang in his seeker blood. The instant he found himself on top Aden unbalanced him, flipping him to the other end of the bed, and he found himself on his side, pinned under the greater strength of Aden’s body. He nearly cowed, some instinct urging him to roll over and be _cared for_ again--but stronger was his need to lay his lover low in a sweet way, a need he hadn’t felt so strongly since before the transfer blooming in his chest, the memory of youthful fantasy made reality over the past year. Raha curled into a ball and shifted, kicking up at Aden’s midsection again--it was enough to unbalance him on their plush footing, and this time Raha wasted no time straddling him not at the waist, but across his chest. It would be harder for Aden to lever him off without hurting him, like this, and a devious thought roiled in his mind at the sight of his hardness against Aden’s chest. By no means were Aden’s pecs _prodigious_ , but they were well developed. Raha reached down with both hands, squeezing them together, and thrust between them. “I will claim every _ilm_ of you,” Raha growled. “No part of you untouched--not even this.”

Aden’s hands curled over Raha’s thighs as if he meant to throw him off again, but the move never came. He stared transfixed, mismatched eyes down to thin rings of color. Raha felt him shift uncomfortably on the bed, and grinned wolfishly. “ _That_ finally got you?” He thrust slowly, a bit hard, careful not to exert enough pressure to hurt Aden while still pushing him to that edge he always sought.

“You look--” Aden’s fingers dug into his thighs bruising hard.

Raha moaned lasciviously, leaning forward to let his hair sweep down over his shoulder. “I look?”

“Divine,” Aden answered. “Worthy of worship.”

Raha laughed, husky and full of lust. “You certainly summoned _something_ this morning.” The glide and pull of his skin was heavenly, and Raha imagined coming--across Aden’s face, drooling down his cheek--he could just imagine Aden’s tongue darting out to lick stray cum from his lips, a devious, lusty look in his eyes. Or perhaps just as he was, pressed between Aden’s pecs, running down to pool at his collarbone--and perhaps, _perhaps_ , he’d sweep it away with his _own_ tongue, taste himself on Aden’s skin.

But the other half of the biological urge that drove their people--to _mate_ \--the need to bury himself in warm flesh and spill his seed--won out. “Open,” he gasped, breathless, and Aden did so. Raha levered himself up and sank his cock between Aden’s lips, slowly, every little moan and muffled sound as they both adjusted rocking straight through his dick to his core. Finally he hilted himself with a groan, and Aden swallowed around him. He stayed like that for a long moment, unable to move for fear of coming instantly. Aden’s ears flicked a certain way--a silent signal, _go ahead_ , and as soon as he could bear it Raha drew back with a groan. Another flick of his ears, and Raha had to pause again at the eroticism of being given free reign to set the pace he pleased. He tangled a hand in Aden’s hair while he still had the presence of mind to do so, rubbing gently at one of his ears. “ _Love_.” Another little flick, upright, back and forth, and a slow blink. Raha pushed back in, fucking Aden’s throat, slow and deep as he could, but gentle--he’d finish like he’d started, given the choice, in warmth, and love, and acceptance--cared for in a different way. Both were right, and he needed both--but he needed this _right now_ , his lover beneath him, reassurance that Aden still _wanted_ him like this. That it was alright to _want_. He purred softly, the sound hitching on every thrust, and Aden answered--the reverberation through his throat and right up Raha’s cock undid him, and he saw stars as he pressed as far as he could and spilled down Aden’s throat.

They stayed like that for a moment, Raha catching his breath, rubbing at Aden’s ear, and Aden made a satisfied little _hum_ that set Raha’s cock twitching again. A little huff followed, felt more than heard, and Aden’s tongue worked him gently--not enough to get him hard again, but enough to let him know _I wanted this_.

“Thank you,” Raha breathed, and another slow blink answered before he found the strength to pull away.

“You say that like we’re finished,” Aden murmured, voice a little rough and worn, and his fingers trailed up Raha’s thighs to grip his hips, tugging him back down.


	5. Wood

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A minific originally posted in twitter to answer the question "how would your otp put together a piece of ikea furniture?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You can yell at me or find info about supporting me on twitter [@AStormcalled](https://twitter.com/AStormcalled) or tumblr [@Dellebecque](https://dellebecque.tumblr.com).

"Done." G'raha looked up from the instructions at Aden's voice in time to see him push up from the floor next to the desk. "Got some extra pieces, but it seems sturdy enough..." He hefted a long, thin piece of wood in one hand.

"It goes right there," G'raha said, pointing. Aden scowled, turning to look where he indicated, and G'raha grinned privately to himself, remembering Aden's insistence of 'I know enough woodworking, I already see how this thing goes together.'

"Do we even _need_ that part?"

"Yes," G'raha answered.

"Why didn't you say anything earlier?"

"You looked like you were having _fun_."

Aden turned and glared, fighting to keep his expression from twisting into a smile. "Brat." 

G'raha hopped off his perch and drew close, laying a little peck of a kiss on Aden's cheek. "Would you have me any other way?" The smile finally won, which of course was his cue to point at another part of the desk with the rolled up instructions. "And this piece actually goes there."


End file.
